


don't mean to tease you

by limned



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limned/pseuds/limned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never imagined for a second that a simple Wednesday morning would involve Tony Stark forcibly undressing him against a wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't mean to tease you

Bruce isn't very alert in the mornings, but he doesn't think he's ever gotten this particular reception in Tony's lab. He's pretty sure he would remember it.

It's a little striking when you've done nothing but walk through a door and someone stares at you with his mouth open before half-shouting, “What? _No_ ,” and vaults straight over a lab bench to grab the front of your shirt.

“Tony?” he says blankly.

“I do not think so,” Tony says back. He spaces the words out very precisely, like he's making some kind of sense, like he's answering a specific question that Bruce had asked him. “Nope, not going to happen, not in a million years. Dream on, Banner.”

Bruce only has time to blink in confusion before Tony's hands land on his chest, pushing him. Not roughly, but steady and firm enough that Bruce backpedals instinctively until his shoulders bump the wall. “Tony, what the hell— _Tony!_ ” he yelps, because Tony has twisted one hand in the bottom of his shirt and started pulling it upward. “Hey! Coffee, your coffee!”

“Fuck the coffee,” Tony says conversationally. He frees his other hand just long enough to knock the cup out of Bruce's grip with a quick sideways swipe. It lands several feet away in a bursting explosion that spatters quite a lot of nearby equipment.

 _That's it_ , Bruce decides with silent awe, _he's gone insane_. Tony doesn't give a damn about equipment breakage but he's been known to crawl adoringly toward people bringing him coffee. It happens often enough that it's part of the standard Stark Industries orientation briefing for new interns so they (hopefully) won't file sexual harassment complaints on their very first day.

And Bruce probably needs to stop thinking about sexual harassment, like right now, because Tony is much too close and frowning and yanking fixedly at his shirt again and Bruce's body is responding in exactly the way that he's been repressing for way too long.

He shoves back and tries to catch Tony's wrists, without success. “Okay, jesus! What? What's wrong with you?”

Tony's eyes flick up to glare at him. Bruce tries not to suck in his breath. “I said,“ Tony snaps, “I _said_ that this is not acceptable, and if you think it is, you are out of your damn mind. If you'd like me to get inappropriately hip-hop about it, I can rephrase. Not up in here. _Not_ up in here. Get me?”

“Not even a little bit,” Bruce says honestly, staring back.

But apparently that's the end of talking about it, because a second later he can't see Tony's face due to the fabric jerked up over his head. There's a wild space when he's still trying to push Tony away, but Tony just plants a hip against him and gets his right arm in a lock and uses the distraction to wrestle his shirt up over his left arm.

It's deeply weird. Because Tony still isn't actually being rough, just really, really determined, and Bruce can't see Tony's face because he's trapped inside his own t-shirt like some insane laboratory version of a hockey fight. But Tony is still _talking_ , even as he pushes Bruce firmly against the wall again. “I didn't think we needed to have a conversation about simple lab etiquette, for christ's sake, but this is ridiculous. Have you met me, did you think this was a _good idea?_ ” and his voice is low and he's mumbling irritably like Bruce is one of his robots trying to hand him the wrong thing in the middle of a welding project.

Which absolutely shouldn't be as hot as it is. It shouldn't be hot to get shoved around and manhandled and _corrected_. Bruce is trying to convince himself of this, right up until the moment when Tony's fingers slide over the back of his neck.

Jesus _christ_. Maybe it shouldn't be hot, but over the weeks and months that he's spent fighting off a stupidly intense attraction, he never imagined for a second that a simple Wednesday morning would involve Tony Stark forcibly undressing him against a wall.

He's having some trouble breathing when Tony finishes pulling his shirt over his head.

“You,” Tony mutters, and he's moving against Bruce and releasing the lock on his right arm to yank the shirt off his shoulder, “you, out of everyone, you should—“

And then Tony stops, and Bruce knows why. He's shifted his hip just enough.

“Oh,” Tony says, in an entirely different voice.

Bruce shuts his eyes and tries not to melt down in embarrassment. He feels like all the blood in his body is equally distributed between his cock and the hard flush in his face, and he's trembling against the hold that Tony still has on his arms. “Okay, c-can we... can we pretend this didn't happen?” he says, and he's trying _so hard_ for something like a reasonable tone, which really isn't working with his erection pressed so tight against Tony's thigh.

“Hell no, we can't. Nope—hey, look at me, Bruce, would you?”

Bruce gets about a half-second to do that, to see Tony looking at him with something like utter beaming delight, and then Tony is leaning in, both hands sliding up to wrap around Bruce's shoulders, and he forgets everything for about five seconds of Tony kissing him.

It's a long bewildering rush of wet and heat and friction, Tony's tongue sliding against his lips and pressing inside with quick expert nudges, Bruce kissing back without any conscious thought, Tony's thigh pressing firmer against his cock, twisting and rubbing so he can feel Tony's cock hardening against the curve of his hip, and Bruce realizes in a panicked instant that not only could he probably come from this in under a minute, but he's—he's making out with _Tony_ in the middle of the _lab_ and—

He can't jerk back because Tony already has him pinned so thoroughly against the wall, but he manages to duck his head sideways and break the kiss. “Tony,” he gasps, and his voice sounds so ragged that it's almost unrecognizable. “We can't, we can't, come on, this is crazy,” he says desperately.

“Doesn't feel crazy.” Tony hasn't backed off an inch, his hips still flexing in a slow rhythm. His lips are skating over Bruce's cheek, soft and exploring, completely at odds with the pressure and intent of his body. “Feels pretty damn good, in fact. I didn't plan on having sex at eight AM in the lab, I admit it, but this is one of your better ideas, and considering how much awesome work we've done since May, that's really saying something. Can I have an idea now? Can I suck your cock?”

Bruce blames the sudden whiteout of lust in his brain for the fact that he misses Tony's hands leaving his shoulders until they're flicking open the button of his trousers. Tony has his zipper halfway down before he recovers enough to snap, “Tony, no!” and grab his wrists, hard.

Tony goes still, although he doesn't move away. He's watching Bruce's eyes closely. “Okay, yeah. No means no, I get that. Unless you just want to get a little rough with me, and for future reference, I am absolutely on board with that.” He flexes his wrists slightly in Bruce's grip and leans forward, his lips coming dangerously close to Bruce's again. Bruce can see Tony's blown-out pupils really well from this distance, even without his glasses. “But it seems like you _do_ want this, so why the no? Is it a control thing?”

Bruce tries to take a deep breath. “It's not that. My control is—no, it's not about the other guy. But... _Pepper_ , Tony. You and Pepper. We can't.”

“Oh god, is that all? Pepper gave me permission to fuck you about three months ago,” Tony says in a low, happy rush against the side of Bruce's jaw. “You can stop to call her for confirmation but please, please don't, because you have no idea how long I've wanted this, so believe me that I wouldn't be a total idiot and lie about it and _fuck_ , Bruce, come _on_ ,” and now he's straining against Bruce's hands on his wrists, kissing and nipping along Bruce's ear, his neck, whispering, “come on, let me suck you, I _want_ it, please let me, please—“

Bruce groans out, “Tony,” in a low helpless voice, his hands flexing tight around Tony's wrists for an instant, but he knows he's done before he lets go.

Tony wastes no time at all, going to his knees the second Bruce releases him, his fingers eager and deft as he pulls Bruce's trousers and underwear down to mid-thigh. And Bruce also knows what Tony's going to do before he does it, because this is _Tony_ , even though it's a terrible angle to do it, it's absolutely no surprise when he tips his head forward and slides Bruce's cock all the way down his throat.

“Tony, jesus, _jesus_ ,” Bruce chokes out, and his head thumps hard against the wall and he digs his nails into his palms because he needs something, he needs some kind of focus point to distract himself from the ( _clenching, hot, wet, perfect_ ) hold of Tony's throat around him, if he doesn't want to come in the next three seconds.

Tony slides away with agonizing slowness, humming halfway through and making Bruce jerk involuntarily. He licks at the tip of Bruce's cock before saying calmly, “Gag reflexes are for amateurs,” and then he does it _again_ , down past the back of his throat with a half-swallowing clench that makes Bruce's knees shake.

“Tony no, god, stop _stop_ , I'm going to—“

Tony pulls off again and curls his fingers around the back of Bruce's knees. Bruce doesn't dare to look down, but it's like every nerve in his body lights up as Tony traces light fingertips slowly up his thighs. “Want me to drag it out? I can do that.”

It's both the best and the worst thing that Bruce can remember. He doesn't want to come instantly like an overheated teenager, but his body is in sharp disagreement and just wants more of everything, harder and faster and _more_ , so it's like torture when Tony goes to work. 

He licks wet circles around the tip of Bruce's cock, tracing over the slit and murmuring low and filthy, “fuck yeah, wanted this, wanted to do this every day,” before moving down to suck, steady motions of his head, one hand stroking firm on the shaft and the other sliding back to cup Bruce's balls and rub a finger right behind them. Bruce can hear himself panting helplessly and he tries to hold off his noises but he can't, hitching broken moans from the back of his throat. He can't spread his legs very far with his trousers still caught around his knees but Tony takes the hint, wets two fingers quickly in his mouth and then pushes back to press carefully inside Bruce's ass. Bruce jerks again in an involuntary spasm because it's been so long for this, so long since anyone touched him and sometimes all that he could think about, and Tony's fingers are spreading him open at the same time that Tony is sucking him, hard and then gentle, pulling off to lick and mouth him and everything is slick and Tony keeps murmuring in between, “yeah, give it to me, wanted you so fucking much,” and Bruce can hear himself whimpering high and desperate because it's too much and not enough all at once.

It takes him a minute to realize that Tony's only touching him with one hand, with the fingers pressed tight into Bruce's ass. He rocks his head forward and manages to open his eyes and Tony looks like every fantasy he's had for months. His mouth stretched wide and wet around Bruce's cock, eyelashes dark against his cheeks, and jesus _fuck_ , Tony's sweatpants are pushed down and he's stroking his own cock, hard and shaking forward with every thrust, his mouth on Bruce and his hand on himself perfectly timed together.

Tony picks that moment to look up, meeting Bruce's stare, and he shifts his mouth and presses his bottom lip tight under the head and sucks once, twice and that's it, Bruce is gone, spilling and shivering and coming so hard that it's almost painful.

Somewhere in the middle he hears Tony make a high choked groan and he focuses enough to see Tony coming over his own hand as he's swallowing, jerking and pushing forward against Bruce's legs. It's enough to draw out his aftershocks in another tight spasm.

“Holy fucking god,” Bruce slurs, and his knees give out right then. He manages to slide down against the wall and pull out of Tony's mouth at the same time so Tony doesn't choke, so, hey, points for some minor coordination there. He's having trouble with more coherent thought. Like if this was actually a good idea or not, so that subject will have to wait.

Tony is breathing like a bellows but he's already grinning, his eyes half-shuttered. He catches Bruce with one arm around his waist and crawls in, pushing his forehead against the side of Bruce's neck. “Best idea ever,” he says, in a hoarse, wrecked voice. “Eight o'clock lab sex. I approve of this so much.”

Bruce can't help smiling. “Yeah, well. You're welcome.”

“You and that shirt. A more suspicious person would think you did it with this exact ulterior motive in mind.”

The orgasm haze is making him a little slow, because Bruce breathes for a few seconds before he says, “What?”

Tony cracks an eye to peer at him. “Come on. You were teasing me.”

He feels incredibly warm and content with Tony plastered against his entire left side, but that doesn't mean he understands. “With... what?”

“Your _t-shirt_. Your fucking Captain America shirt, Banner. The one that I had to remove from your person.”

Bruce looks at him until Tony pushes himself upright and flails around to find Bruce's discarded shirt. Which, yeah, when Tony shakes it right side out, is undeniably Steve's shield emblem, and Bruce goes into a laughing fit that feels a little odd, because that's not something that he usually does immediately after coming his brains out so it makes him kind of light-headed. And Tony is actually starting to scowl at him by the time he manages to wind down.

“Tony,” he gasps, eventually. “I didn't even realize I was wearing it. I took a bunch of free stuff from the sample room that the clothing companies sent us.”

Tony looks at him, eyebrows raised, for a long, considering moment.

Then he breaks into a satisfied smile, and uses the shirt to wipe his hands very deliberately clean, which makes Bruce grin. “Okay, I believe you. So that's going into biohazard waste, and you are _never_ to wear anything like it in my lab again, right? I mean, maybe I owe Steve a thank-you for accidentally kicking this off, but I'm very petty and jealous and—“

Bruce cuts him off by wrapping a hand around his neck and dragging him into a kiss. “Yes, Tony,” he says, very seriously, after they pull apart, and Tony says in a slightly hazy voice, “Well, as long as we understand each other.”

.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a comment overheard while seeing Iron Man 3 on opening night. A guy was wearing a Captain America shirt and someone said to him, “Tony Stark would hate the fact that you're wearing that during his movie, dude.”


End file.
